Rise of Tevinter: A Magisters' Story
by jfrost22792
Summary: Irian of House Amladaris, Tevinter would remember him as the Magister that dragged the Imperium from its own grave. No story, however grand or humble, is ever that simple. An to fully understand his, we must start from the beginning...
1. Bloody Beginnings

**I own nothing of the copyrighted material present.**

 **I previously posted the first two chapters of this story, but later removed them for correction.**

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 **Dragon 9:14, 13 Drakonis**

We…no, I was foolish.

The magic in the air flared as the blood began steadily draining out of us. I, along with four newly made Laetans, had been fools to except this deal.

Magister Marian Amladaris, if only we had never listened to his offer.

The five of us had gone through some of the most grueling apprenticeships I had ever heard of, serving beside our respective masters in campaigns against Qunari, bandits, and even darkspawn.

We had made it through more battle fields intact, than most Altus will ever see, but it doesn't matter now, because where our enemies failed, it seems our attempts to gain more power will succeed.

His offer…it had been too tempting to pass up.

That a Magister was even willing to strike a deal with a group of newly minted Laetans just out of apprenticeship, when there was plenty of Altus who would have been more than willing, should have told us something wasn't right. Even lesser positioned Magisters would have chomped at the bit to get into the favor of the political juggernaut of House Amladaris.

The Amladaris family was surely not the richest in Tevinter, even if they were among the oldest. Marian's eccentricities and obsession with old Arlathan magics and ruins had nearly drained the family.

I suppose previously being the last of his house left little care in him for his houses future, his new son had brought a change in that.

I had seen him once, with his elven slave-turned-wife. Given his obsession, I suppose it shouldn't have really shocked any of us. There had been outrage when the news of her pregnancy had reached the Magisterium though, a child of elven blood would one day inherit a seat on the highest level of the Imperial Senate.

I had had a hell of a laugh at that one.

The stories say she had died in childbirth, though some had whispered he had had her killed once the child had been delivered. Given my current situation, I can see the conniving man murdering his own wife once he had want he wanted of her.

I watched as Walton, my Ferelden born friend who was brought to Tevinter as a child by slavers, fall to his knees. His face sunken and pale as the dead, the last of his blood was drawn from him as his body finally crumpled to the ground, and it joined the swirling torrent of crimson above us.

The ritual was supposed to be simple, a small bit of blood magic from a ritual Magister Amladaris had found deep within an ancient elven ruin in the Arlathan Forest. We had asked to see it first, of course, to understand just how deep we were really getting ourselves into the Magisters plots.

His answer should have been all that we needed to know that something wasn't right, "I destroyed it" he had said, to make sure that no one else could perform it but him, he had destroyed the rituals details.

Blood magic always came with risks, but it seemed so minimal that we hadn't protested initially. All he needed was to put a drop of his son's blood into a small cut on out palms, and the magic of the ritual would take care of the rest.

It was supposed to empower the child, by giving a minuscule piece of our power to the boy, we had protested at that, of course. Only a fool consciously gave away a piece of their own power, especially in Tevinter.

He had had an answer to our concerns, of course, he would give each of us a single favor that could be used however we wished.

Just like that, we had been bought.

With the backing of one of the oldest living houses in the Imperium, even getting the rank of Altus wasn't impossible. It was too good to resist, and now it seems we'll pay for that greed with our lives.

The last of my friends had gone fallen to the ground, the only one left among the living now was me. I had been fighting the pull of the ritual since I had realized something was wrong, but it had already been to late then.

The minute we had stepped into the cellar beneath the Amladaris estate, we had already sealed our own fates.

The focus of the ritual, the small baby Irian, laid in the middle of the lyrium lined ritual circles, crying for all he was worth as the mass of blood and raw magic circled above him.

The boy only a few months to him, but Marian was already taking great pride in pointing out just how powerful the child would be, not even a year old and already the babe was showing signs of his magic.

If only the child hadn't taken entirely after his mother in appearance, then the Magisterium might have applauded the birth of such a promising mage to an ancient, and nearly extinct, family line.

Marian stood by the wall to my right, a table with the rituals various instruments and ingredient's sat beside him.

I gave a small sadistic smirk as the idea settled in, I was going to die here, but I wasn't going alone.

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It was beautiful, the sight before me was all the proof I needed that my life's ambition had succeeded. The swirling mass of blood and magic would soon belong to my son, all that power, all that might, it was all I could do not to weep for the horrible truth…

It could never have been mine.

I was too old by the time I had discovered the crowning jewel of my life's pursuit of lost magics'. One had to be but a babe for the ritual to work, once the first year of life had passed, the ritual would kill any who attempted it.

I was entering my fortieth, and there had been no wife or child to speak of when the ritual had finally been uncovered. There were slaves enough at the estate to rectify that easily enough, I took the daughter of a family that had been slaves to mine for generations, and wed the old elf's daughter.

The child had settled inside Elisa quickly enough, though the child being a male had caused me no end of headaches from my fellow Magisters, I couldn't exactly tell them that the child was only temporary.

House Amladaris was an old and powerful family, that last living decedents of the Archon Almadrius. As if I could let some half breed whelp, even if it was my own, take possession of that legacy.

Elisa dying in childbirth had been a stroke of fortune, removing her would have been a messy endeavor otherwise.

With her gone I could simply take another bride, one from a proper family, and then when a child came from the union, a proper child, I could use Irian in the ritual just as I had used the fool Laetans shriveled on the ground.

They had been strong enough mages, in terms of raw magic they might have even surpassed me, but they were unused to the politics and schemes of Tevinter's courts. Their masters had done them a disservice, they taught them all they would ever need to know about how to survive a battlefield, but nothing of how to survive their own home.

Their deaths would go a long way in fixing my houses financial struggles, the fools had signs writs of bereavement. All but absolving me of any harm they might receive in whatever "research" they might actively participate.

If they had read closer, they would have seen that the writs also made House Amladaris the sole heir to their unimportant, if not moderately wealthy, estates should they die with no legitimate heir.

They were all unwed orphans raised from slave stock due to talent, their wealth made through the bounty taken from battlefields and investments in ventures by barbarians outside of the Imperium.

The coin will serve well enough, though the new entanglements with the southerners will have to be severed posthaste.

I will never let it be said that an Amladaris would consort with such...filth.

"Marian!"

I turned to the sharp shout in enough time to see the knife coming down, Belen, the strongest of the five I had assembled as sacrifices for the ritual, had somehow mustered the strength to not only move, but to strike.

I managed to shift just enough to the right that the small dagger missed my heart and instead impeded in my shoulder.

I cried out in pain as I shoved Belen away, I caught the smile on the young man's face as the last of his strength failed him. I turned to the Irian, to see the last moments of the ritual as the power of the blood of the sacrifices seeped into his small body.

There was nothing though, just the continuing volatile swirl of the accumulated blood above him.

Then I felt it, something was very wrong.

I looked to the dagger embedded in my shoulder to see the blood being dragged from the wound and toward the mass.

I shot a quick glance to the table I had set the blooded dagger on, it was gone.

"No! No, no, no, no, no!"

I took off toward the door to the ritual chamber and through it open, I had to get away! I had to run!

I felt myself getting weaker with every step I took, the stairs up to the estates main floor from the underground ritual chamber had never felt so long.

"Help!" I screamed as I continued to try and flee, I couldn't die this way, not me. Not me!

"Help..." My voice was little more than a hollow whisper as I continued to try and claw my way up the stair case. I tumbled as my legs gave out and I came crashing down, but still I fought to get away from magic stealing my life from me.

My arms wouldn't move now though, the weight of them so impossibly heavy. I couldn't yell, the effort to speak was too far beyond me. I could only weep in despair as the darkness took me.

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"Leras, you have to settle down. At this rate you'll wear a path into the floor with all your pacing."

I turned to Saris, the new slave our master had purchased to replace the position of gardener that my daughter, my precious Elisa, had once held. I had lost her to the Master's ambitions, just as so many of the staff had lost their lives in his "experiments".

"My grandson has no place in the ritual chambers alone with six mages, a babe has no place in such things." I kept on pacing as the worry inside my heart continued to grow, the master had been vague about what his plans for Irian's future were.

Master Marian promised me and my daughter our freedom when they wed, he had showed me the writ granting me my freedom himself, but he still had yet to actually place it in my hands. I could live with continuing on as a slave though, what I couldn't live with is seeing the last of my family come to harm from the sadistic bastard.

From his first moments, I had watched over Master Marian, he was a kind child once, but somewhere along the way, the kind, if eccentric, boy had gotten twisted into the cruel and capricious man that he had become.

I had such high hopes for what he could have become as a child, that all seems so far away now…

"Help!"

I froze in my pacing at the sudden sound, I looked to Saris to see if he has heard it as well. The shocked look in his eyes was all the validation I needed, I bolted toward the stairway that led down into the ritual chambers. I could hear Saris sprinting behind me.

My old body carried me as fast they could to the stairwell, my breath caught at the sight awaiting me.

Master Marian was spread over the stairs; his body looked drained and emptied. His face seemed to have sunken in to his skull, I rushed over and checked for a heartbeat, there was no real surprise when I felt none.

Wait…he had just come from the ritual chamber…

"Irian!"

I took off in a desperate sprint down the stairs, I couldn't have lost him too.

Please Irian, please be safe…

Bodies were strewn about the room, but the sight that truly left me speechless was the massive swirling veil of blood, it was covering the middle of the room in a thick roaring mass.

Getting any farther into the room than a few steps impossible.

A quick glance around what was visible of the room told me my worst fears were correct, the only place left where Irian could be, was inside the heart of the storm. Every attempt I made to get through the swirling wall of blood was met with a painful refusal.

"What is that thing?"

I turn to see Saris standing in the doorway, a look of utter terror on his face.

"I don't know, but Irian is inside of it." I did notice, however, that the walls were slowly shrinking. It was diminishing in size by the minute, "Go get tell the guards that our master and his guests are dead and we need the Chantry and the Templars here, but tell them nothing more."

Saris nodded absently to me as he hurriedly raced from the room, I can't honestly say that I blamed him, it reeked of the strong coppery smell that could only be found with blood. I could only hope he doesn't go through the details to thoroughly with them, I don't want my grandson associated with blood magic of this scale so young.

I've seen enough of the politics of the Magisters to know what would happen to Irian if they were to find out, his father's enemies would try and have him saddled with Marian's crimes.

I had to wait several minutes until the torrent finally subsided, the blood that had been surrounding him had disappeared without a trace.

Only the bodies of the dead remained as proof of whatever horrors had taken place here.

It was nearly an hour before a group of four Templars, a Chantry Father, and what looked to be whatever Laetan had been on duty at the Guardhouse. I had Nesinne, the slave acting as his wet-nurse, take him to his nursery when I was informed of their approach.

Irian wouldn't be anywhere near the scene for them to scrutinize, I had nearly seventy years' experience in watching Tevinter politics play out, my grandson would not be made a victim of them.

The Templars entered first, followed by a tired looking mage, and a Chantry Father with a grim expression. "You, slave. Where is you master?"

I gave a deep bow to the mage before I spoke, "He is in the stairway to the lower chambers messere, if you will follow me?" Getting the gesture to lead on, I began to make my way through the estates halls and into the oldest section of the house.

I showed them the stairway down, and the first sight that greeted us was the shriveled body, of Magister Marian Amladaris.


	2. Taking on the Mantel

**I own nothing of the copyrighted material present.**

 **I previously posted the first two chapters of this story, but later removed them for correction.**

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 **Dragon 9:26, 17 Bloomingtide**

I sat among my "piers", the graduating class of the Minrathous Circle of Magi. The ceremony was beautiful…or at least that's what I would like to believe, since I can't even see the stage.

I was twelve, one of the youngest graduate of the Circle in Tevinter history, and they stuck me in the back row behind three hundred people, easily five-to-seven years my senior, so that I can't see over them.

A final spite from my instructors most likely. I would be a Magister after this ceremony ended, you'd think they would have more foresight than to keep playing this game of theirs.

I had already endured six years of their constant picking at my flaws, granted I had more than a few of those, but I wouldn't be allowed to graduate if I hadn't learned to compensated for them.

Though, I was probably the only student who had ever been allowed to graduate while being completely incapable of using three out of the four school of magic. Not from lack of trying, of course, my magic was simply, as Enchanter Markel had said, to "condensed".

When I tried the same spells as others, well, the results tended to be more…unfortunate.

It wasn't from lack of effort, I had all the theory memorized, but I learned quickly that the most important aspects in the Primal, Entropy, and Creation schools were keeping the magic used minimal and tightly controlled to just what the spell needed to work.

When your magic is so condensed that the amount that went into a single spell, was equivalent to a mediocre mage pouring out his entire reserve…

Well, there wasn't really anywhere to go from there.

When I tried spells from the Creation School, such as healing a small break on a slave used as the lesson's test subject, I overpowered the spell.

I could still hear the screams from the poor slave when I tried to cast the spell to heal his arm, and ended up shattering the whole bone.

Emboldening spells were just as bad, where normal mages could make their companions stronger or faster, my attempts always ended with the slaves' bodies breaking down in exhaustion from the strain.

Entropy spells were even worse…those simply didn't work at all.

Spells from the entropy school required a slow moving, almost fog like, movement of your magic. The magic needed to be spread out and refined into whatever effect you were striving for, whether it was a paralysis hex or even a cloud of toxic air.

That it requires small continues bursts and movements of magic, means that even trying to cast the spells ends in failure.

The fact that I couldn't do anything in the Primal School, either, was a heart break for me. Fire, ice, stone, and lighting spells were not only extremely difficult for me, they were also dangerous. The spells require that I maintain a fine control over, not only the amount of magic being used, but also the way in which I shaped it.

While I'm good at shaping magic toward my intention, shaping it while trying to keep a strict control over the volume let out, turns into a catastrophe.

When I tried to force a fireball, the spell failed and the resulting explosion landed me in a healer's care for the next month. Personally, I think being eight, and unable to move from my bed for a month, was punishment in of itself.

That little bit of unsupervised magic left me with a permanent reminder of my own foolishness.

I still carried the burn scars running across the left side of my body, from collarbone to thy was a nightmarish weave of marred flesh.

It was the final of the four primary branches of magic where I shinned, the Arcane School was where my magic was a blessing, rather than a curse.

The School of Arcane magic focused on the manipulations of pure arcane energy, there was no "overpowering" a spell that sprang from pure intent, and the ability to pour enough power into that intent to make it reality. Everything from shields, bolts of arcane energy, and even the ability to cancel out other magic.

Though the reason I was getting to graduate, even though my spells were rather limited outside of arcane manipulation, was my mastery over Veilfire.

Veilfire had become my greatest asset, even though most mages, or the very few who bothered to learn it, could only use it for temporary lighting, or rune writing. Veilfire had so many other uses to someone like me. With my magic being so condensed, the ability to feed the Veilfire my magic made it burn so hot that I could use it as a weapon.

I had never been more grateful to my father than the day I snuck into his closed off study, and found the book Magister Pendictus had written on Veilfire. The book had taught me how to conjure up a fire made of pure arcane energy, too call upon the memory of fire that echoed throughout the fade.

Magister Pendictus had said it was impossible to use Veilfire as a weapon, but then again, he didn't have my magic as a fuel source.

The Veilfire I create burns hot enough to melt the stone of the circle classroom, when I had demonstrated for my teacher. To say he was impressed would be an understatement, though the Senior Enchanters had been a bit mad about the damages to one of their lecture halls.

Their expressions when I had refused to tell them the secret of how I had done it, made the several weeks of detention I had to spend helping the tranquil with their potion brewing worth it.

There was more than just my mastery over the School of Arcane and my achievements with Veilfire that allowed me to graduate as early as I was though. After all, most must study here to at least their sixteenth birthday before they're being deemed someone learned enough to graduate.

I was a Somniari, the first known Dreamer to survive coming into their power in nearly three ages. I made them all extremely uneasy, normally Dreamers were magically weak when awake, to be as powerful as I was, and yet still a Dreamer.

I learned quickly to live with their fear and suspicion.

Generally, I isolated in the Circle, being nearly a decade younger than most of the people I was learning beside made conversations difficult. The fact that after I graduated, I would inherit my families position of Magister, only served to make people all the wearier.

When I first started my Circle lessons, I was embittered by it, as any small child would be at such cold treatment, but my grandfather had told me "forgive them their fear, that comes with their ignorance".

It was a lesson I had taken to heart, though my instructors have pushed that sentiment to it limits, they weren't ignorant, just bitter that a child had mastered their lessons in the time it took them to finish talking.

Only History and Arcane Theory classes kept my attention anymore, though I did enjoy getting lost in the Circle's library during my free moments.

Honestly though, I knew that a great deal of the hate I received in the Circle was because I took almost completely after my elven mother. I was still, however, taller than the few other elven children my age in the Circle.

That was how I had come to think of myself over the course of my childhood, an elf.

Outside of my height, I had no other human traits, it was simpler to think of myself as an elf than as a half-blooded child. My mother's deep auburn hair and her golden honey eyes were just another in a long list of traits I had kept from her, though I did get my father's pale completion.

When I had told my grandfather as much, my lessons on "the people" had begun, every other day after I got home from the Circle. There wasn't much my grandfather could teach me, my mother's family had been slaves to my fathers for generations.

One of the slaves my father had purchased before he died, however, was a former Dalish. Saris had taken to teaching me with zeal, I think he liked having someone to share his culture with.

"Irian Amladaris"

I abandoned my musings as the Grand Cleric called me forward. I stood quickly, minding the ends on my dress robes as not to take a tumble.

The Grand Cleric studied me closely as I made my way around the mass of otherwise seated graduates. He was here as a representative of the Divine, who in Tevinter also held the title of Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi.

The Grand Cleric was an older man with salt and pepper hair, deep black skin, and a strong searching gaze. If the Divine had sent him to oversee the graduation, he would likely be sending a report of his brief impressions of us afterwards.

As the only living Dreamer in Tevinter, I had long come to terms with being watched by those trying to get a measure of my "Usefulness".

To them, I was either a potential threat, or a potential pawn.

I wouldn't deny the notion that I was a possible threat. Every Magister was really, but I would never play the pawn.

I sent a prayer of thanks to my grandfather for having arranged my lessons with Lady Pavus, without her instruction on the politics and decorum of Tevinter…I do believe I would have been eaten alive in the Circle, over the last six years.

I owned House Pavus a great deal for their kindness, I can only hope that gratitude won't be abused. I had some years before that was really a concern regardless.

I may get control over my houses estate and my father's titles now that I'm graduating from the Circle, but I was still barred from casting a vote from my family's seat in the Magisterium, at least until my formal majority at sixteen.

I reached the top of the podium and knelt before the Grand Cleric, "In the name of his Most Holy, the Divine Mettius III, Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, I proclaim your time of learning at an end. Rise and take your place among your fellow mages, sworn to safeguard our grand Imperium, Irian of House Amladaris."

There was little more than the occasional bit of polite applause, it didn't matter to me though, I had final done it.

I was a Magister now, in all that time I had spent in others dreams, watching them relive their moments of exhilaration, they reached one of their life's ambition's.

I was finally living out that moment myself.

The revered father next to the Grand Cleric handed me my ring of study, the small silver ring hummed quietly when placed in my palm, I could feel the faint traces of lyrium that were infused in the silver.

It was a symbol given to Tevinter mages as proof of their graduation from the Circle, though I hear in the south, it was a sign of a successful Harrowing.

I bowed my head slightly to the Grand Cleric, and then to the Revered Father, before continuing pass them, and off the stage. I slipped the ring onto my thumb, the only place where it would actually fit, and quietly took my seat as I waited for the last few graduates to finish.

In only a few minutes the ceremony was brought to an end, with the blessing of the Grand Cleric a wave of pent-up excitement seemed to break free from the graduates, some standing and embracing one another, though most simply smiled and went to find their families, waiting on them in the background.

I smothered the flash of jealousy quickly, forcing myself to look away from the familiar scenes in front of me.

Quickly, I made my way down from the sixth-floor auditorium, used for the ceremony, and down into the Circles lobby. The Templars guarding the door nod respectfully, opening the massive doors for me to leave.

"Jaran", I suppress the smile when my coachman nearly jumps out of his skin. Maybe I should stop surprising him, before I give the old elf a heart attack. He whips around, his old brown eyes already telling me that a chiding was in my future.

"Do you realize how many years I lose each time you do that?" His sun tanned face donned a disapproving frown, but the twitch of his lip told me he was doing his best not to laugh. "So, where will the first stop be, for Tevinters' newest Magister?"

I smiled up at him as he opened the door to the coach for me, I climbed inside and quickly moved to open the small window that let me talk to whomever was seated in the coachbox. "Well, it is Summerday after all, do you think all those merchants that set up stalls in Three Imperators' Square will still be there?"

"It's not but a few hours past noon, the market should still be lively enough." I could hear the laughter in his voice, though I have to admit it was a bit funny.

Just graduated from the circle, and I planned to celebrate by going around the holiday bazar like an excited child…well, I am only twelve, that must buy me some leeway.

The ride from the Circle to the Three Imperators' Square was actually pretty quick, though the minute we neared the square we became bogged down in the congestion of the city's streets. Every Soporati, Laetan, and Altus that could find a free moment had turned out to browse the foreign wares.

It was nearly half an hour before we found a place to park, I knew that Jaran will have to stay back with the coach, this much wealth in such a congested space made for bold thieves. I didn't mind all that much though, sometimes it was nice to just stroll about on my own.

Though when Carros finds out about this, I'll have to sit through another of his safety lectures, seeing as he's head of the household guard, I can't even argue back.

Opening the small compartment under the seat of the coach, I took out a small purse of coin, a whole eight sovereigns. It was an allowance of sorts, from my family's estate manager.

I'd have to go meet him soon, to get the estate formally switched back over to my control.

I had been saving every spare copper, royal, and sovereign I could after last Summerday, I'm still annoyed that I couldn't afford that book on spirits the Nevarran merchant had been selling.

It's nearly impossible to find any writings by Mortalitasi in Tevinter, the practice is widely considered barbaric here.

Putting the purse aside while I shrugged off my heavy outer dress robe, I rolled my shoulders to get rid of the lingering stiffness the heavy clothe had left behind. My white tunic and leather breaches would serve better with how hot it was outside.

I shoved the coin purse into my pocket and quickly scrambled out of the coach, the door swinging shut behind me. "I'll only an hour or two, I promise." I could hear Jaran's booming laughter behind me, he always enjoyed seeing me actually act my age.

Sadly, free moments like these were a rarity.

Three Imperators' Square was absolutely bustling, stalls lined every free inch along the beautiful inlaid brick paths. I could hear accents all-around me, everywhere from Antivan to Orlaisian. I just walked for a while, taking in the views, and looking for anything that might be interesting enough to spend my coin on.

"Hey youngster, why don't you take a look at my hounds, maybe one will take a liking to you!"

I turned to the man calling out to me, it had been years since I had met someone with a Ferelden accent. Given they're animosity toward feigners, I'm surprised any of them found their way so far north.

…Had the man said hounds?

Walking closer, I could see that his stall was neighbored by a several small cages.

"How did you get Mabari pups?"

It was an honest question, I thought Fereldans all but worshiped the breed. They would never take them to the other side of Thedas simply for chance at some coin.

"Now that's my business youngster, but if you're interested in seeing if one of these fine hounds is willing to choose you, it'll only cost you a sovereign to give it a go. If one chooses you, they're yours to keep."

A Mabari of my own…

It's unlikely that a Ferelden hound would bond with a Tevinter, if I had to guess, everyone else had come to a similar conclusion. Considering how desperate the man looked for me to give it a try, his day must have been a difficult one.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a sovereign from my coin purse, "I'll give it a go, what do I do?"

The man greedily took the coin from my hand. I fought down the urge to flare some of my Veilfire in front of him, if only to encourage some better behavior.

"Just try talking to them, if you can find one that isn't trying to bite your head off through the cage, then we'll take him out and see how he acts with you."

I walked over the cages, ten Mabari pups in total stared back at me. They were all in fairly good health, he must have figured no one would pay for a pup on its last leg. The first nine I tried to talk to immediately set about attacking me through the cage, their small snouts not quite fitting through the gaps in the cages iron bars.

Just when I was about to call it a sovereign poorly spent, I noticed that the tenth pup was just sitting at the front of its cage, waging its nub of a tail at me.

"Looks like I get to move too step two."

The Ferelden whips his head toward me, shock either by my words, or maybe just the fact that I was still there. He must have figured that with all the growling, I had simply given up and walked away.

It's a fair thought, I almost had.

"Well I'll be…" he walks over to the cage with the excited Mabari pup, and opens the cage. Before he can even get ahold of the hound, it had already launched itself at me.

I had been knelt to look though the cages, so the pup knocked me on my ass, and then proceeds to lick every visible inch of my face.

I have a feeling, I'm going to have to get used to this…

"I guess this means he's mine then, right?"

The hesitation on the Ferelden merchant face told me his story rather quickly. He had never intended to lose one of the hounds, and wasn't about to part with one of them for so little as a single sovereign.

"It was the agreement, was it not?" I cut off whatever lie he was about to try and sell me, he went red, but seemed to remember himself before saying anything in anger. Then a glint entered his eyes, I had seen the like before, whenever one of the older students thought they could play a prank on the "kid".

"I understand, if you'll just hand me back the Mabari, and give me the directions to your family's home, I'll see it delivered by midday on the morrow." His shit eating grin didn't sit well with me, and his scheme wasn't even subtle enough to deserve the title. It was clear he meant to take the pups, and ship out of Minrathous first thing tomorrow.

"No, thank you. I'm sure none of the guards would care overly much. Though, if a new circle graduate were to call one of them over and inform them of a certain Fereldan merchant trying to scam people…"

The man went pale, his eyes looking me over in a frantic search to see if he could find a way out of this without involving the guards, or losing his hound.

His shoulders slumped, defeated, when his eyes landed on the Ring of Study on my left hand. It must not have been his first time in Tevinter, if he its meaning at a glance. With sigh, he waved me away, grumbling all the while about it being the runt of the litter anyway.

Normally I'd bristle at the dismissal, but considering I'm getting my way without having to cause a scene, I think a bit of indignation is a fair price.

I started off down the street, the Mabari pup happily nestled in my arms. "Now what should I name you boy?" Lifting the Mabari up to get a better view of it, "ah, girl then."

She was a light brown color with the occasional deeper brown stripe running over her back. Her deep brown eyes regarded me with an almost disturbing intelligence, I had heard the Mabari could understand people, I suppose she'd make for better conversation then most of the other students at the Circle.

"How does Atia sound, girl?" She turns her head in thought, seemingly considering my choice of names, and then barks happily in agreement.

I knelt, gently set her on the street, not standing up until I'm sure she won't make a dart to the closest food stand. Atia just looks up at me impatiently, likely wanting to stretch her legs a bit after being looked in a cage for so long.

I pet her softy before standing and going back to my browsing, most of the stalls were fairly busy, I suppose the merchants were enjoying their holiday as well. Silks and other luxury products brought from all ends of Thedas were brilliantly displayed.

What I enjoyed most though, was finding the humble looking stalls, they always had the most interesting things, and I had dealt with enough silk merchant to last a lifetime.

I had looked over nearly half the stalls before coming to a stop in front of an old wooden stand, an equally old man sat behind it, his face as black as pitch, and the skin of his face wrinkled and hardened like a poorly tanned leather. His eyes were what unsettled me the most, cold and grey, the whole of his presence had the feel of something…wrong.

I was about to walk away, when a gravelly voice called me.

"See anything that catches your eye, little Somniari?"

My attempted flight quickly ended, I stared at the old man for a long moment, the fact that I was a dreamer was hardly a secret, but that he could recognize me on sight…

There was more to the old man than just a frightening demeaned.

Slowly, I looked over the wears on the old man's stall. Most of it was just books, though they seemed to be extremely old volumes. Some had to deal with Tevinter law, only they were centuries out of date.

There were a few old maps of ancient Tevinter, and some smaller books that looked like leather-bound journals. When I got to the largest book on the bottom though, I could feel as my body locked up in panic.

"Are you mad?"

My hushed whisper to the man only seemed to entertain him…he grinned, and his rows of black rotted teeth forced me to look away in revulsion.

"Books on the Old Gods aren't technically illegal, but that won't stop the Chantry for burning you for having them."

If the books had been on the history of the Old Gods he'd be fine, the Chantry at least tolerated those for study, if nothing else, but no, he had a book on the actual worship. The Verses of Dumat, I had heard of it in my studies at the Circle, my instructor had said the Chantry destroyed any teachings related to the Old Gods at the height of the Divine Age.

If even the lowest Chantry brother saw this, the old man would be in chains before nightfall. As for the book…it would be little more than ashes on a Chantry pyre.

The old man's grin only grew wider, "How much coin do you have, little Somniari?"

Did I really want to answer that question? I wanted the rest of it yes, though I doubt my paltry amount of coin could buy me more than a single journal, if anything at all. None of these writing looked younger than late Ancient, altogether it would probably take a small fortune to buy all of it.

As for the Verses of Dumat…it was worth a fortune all on its own, it could very well be the last of its kind. It was almost like raw lyrium, very tempting, but hold it too long, and it'll be the death of you.

"Seven sovereigns" I was honestly relieved that it wouldn't be enough, I did want the books, all of them. Saris always said my curiosity would be the death of me, and I would've proved him right.

As a Magister, the chantry couldn't ignore the law and punish me for having the book, at least not directly like they could a Soporati or Laetan, but there were always other ways.

He must have seen my relief, because he just started laughing, a harsh, retched sound. He stuck out his hand, palm up, and waited for me to place the coin in it.

I stood there staring for a long moment, what exactly was I buying…I grabbed the coin purse in my pocket and placed it in his hand. His decayed smile only grew, I was going to have trouble forgetting that horrifying grin, it bled a sort of deranged glee that made me shudder at the sight of it.

Snatching back his hand with surprising speed, his back straightened from his hunching posture, but his manic glee never wavered. He reached beneath the stall and pulled out a small copper box, setting it down next to the maps and books, he stood slowly, and then…

He walked away.

I stared after the man, a combination of fright and relief at his absence robbing me of speech. He blended quickly into the crowed, and by the time I had myself under control, the man was already long gone.

Did he mean for me to take it all, for only seven sovereigns? No, I get the feeling that if I had given him a single copper, this was still how it would have ended.

The old man wanted me to have these books…and he would get what he wanted. I gathered the books and maps together, careful not to do them any damage, and then picked up the small copper box.

The copper box hummed at my touch, whatever is inside was heavily enchanted.

"Come on Atia, we're going home." She barked happily in response, I held everything from the old man's stall close to my chest, it was almost too much for me to carry on my own.

I'll have to thank Carros for making me attend the guard's weekly drills. He had always said that a mages' greatest weakness was their frail bodies, and he refused to let me be handicapped in the same way.

Fifteen minutes later, and my coach came into view through the throng of the crowd, though the sight that greeted me once I got a clearer view, had me immediately in a fury.

Jaran was forced back against the coach, a richly dress mage loomed over him, his guards with their hands on their swords, waiting for their master's word to take action.

"Is something the matter here?"

They turn to look at me, the mages eyes' narrowed, his disgust, likely at having to talk to another elf, apparent on his face. He sized me up quickly, between my plain, if not well made, clothes, and the inordinate amount of items in my hands, he would likely take me for a prized slave of a well-off family.

"Where's your master wretch? This slave has offended me, and I demand satisfaction."

Fool.

The man simply continued to sneer smugly, I hear Atia begin to growl at my side. "Jaran, can you put this in the carriage for me, please? I'll take care of this." Jaran nodded quickly, his shoulder relaxing, seemingly relieved to be removed from the situation, he quickly took the large pile of books, maps, and the cooper box from arms.

"Now, I believe you wanted to talk to me?"

The man stares at me blankly for a moment as he seemingly takes in my meaning, once it hits him, he breaks out laughing.

It was not a pleasant sound.

"I will see your master has you flogged for this elf, now get your owner quickly, lest I do it myself." He had meant the words to sound threatening I'm sure. If I was a slave, I suppose they might have been.

This idiot will never know how much he owes Nesinne, if it were not for her constant reminders on patients, he'd have already ceased to exist.

I could let go of the inconvenience, I could even ignore his insults, but the moment he threatened Jaran…he should count himself lucky if the only wound he leaves with is to his ego.

"What is your name, Serrah?" His eye twitched at that, I had addressed him as a person of equal or lesser status, and the rage entering his eyes told me he hadn't missed it.

"I am Drusus of House Rogatus, Altus of the Tevinter Imperium, and when I find your master, slave, I will see the both of you knife-ears flayed alive before I'm done." He was nearly shouting now, his voice carrying to those nearby, some, the less subtle among the crowd, even stopped to watch the interaction.

The rest were listening, of course, they were just better at appearing not to.

"Well then, allow me to introduce myself, Drusus of House Rogatus. I am Magister Irian of House Amladaris, and if I let you walk away from here alive, you should thank the Maker for a miracle."

Lady Pavus would not approve, she would see this as reckless and foolhardy.

I can live with that.

Drusus blanched, going first from shocked surprise, to abject horror. Even he wasn't stupid enough to think a young slave would impersonate a Magister in the middle of a large crowd. He had insulted a Magister, publically called him a slave, and even threatened to have him flayed alive.

Good luck finding a way out of this Drusus, even his guards looked nervous about the situation.

I watched, as slowly his face went from mortification, to thoughtful, and finally back to smug.

This should be interesting…

"You have insulted my honor, Magister Irian. I demand a duel to settle this grievance."

Ah, so that's why he looked so satisfied with himself. I had to at least applaud his thinking, he was in an untenable position, so requesting a duel as the bereaved party let him escape the situation, today at least.

I wonder if he thought my age would guaranty him victory, this must have looked like a golden opportunity to him. A young Magister, likely weak and inexperienced, a perfect chance to gain a seat in the Magisterium, and whatever else my house might have of value.

"What are you terms?"


End file.
